


A Maid's Punishment

by straylize



Category: Persona 3, Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Deepthroating, M/M, Porn mostly without plot, Shameless Smut, bits of fluff in there somewhere, brief yusuke cameo, dumb sentimental protags doing illicit things: a life, pegokita
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 12:49:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18699940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straylize/pseuds/straylize
Summary: They were both roped into wearing those costumes—but neither Minato nor Akira were capable of resisting one another once they donned the attire. Why not make an unusual situation a little more pleasurable?





	A Maid's Punishment

Four years.

Four years had passed, and yet every day managed to somehow be more exciting than the last. When Minato had first met Akira, when he had woken up in the arms of a strange, masked man, he didn’t think things could get more exciting. Being pulled from the abyss of the seal, being afforded another chance at life—they started with a sense of excitement, but that excitement never had an opportunity to fade. He had chosen to stay by Akira’s side, and in doing so, it meant there was never a dull moment.

And in four years’ time, just when he’d started to believe that maybe there would be calm, he was proven wrong constantly. Their teen years had come to a close, but their twenties were just as filled to the brim with circumstances that he couldn’t predict that it was almost uncanny.

That night had been absolutely no exception to the rule.

  
  


Two weeks prior, Akira heeded the call of a friend. The university theater group Yusuke was part of needed extras a bit part actors for a stage production; he was no actor himself, merely a set painter, but if there was anyone who would have been up to the part, it was certainly Akira that would be up to the task. He was theatrical by nature, and had very little in the way of other extracurriculars to hold him back.

_ “You’ll be playing the role of a sadistic police officer, _ ” Yusuke had told him calmly. Akira responded with a laugh at the sheer irony of being called in for that sort of role, but easily agreed. He had enough experience to work with that, especially for such a minor part in the production. Of course, with his focus divided on work that needed doing, Yusuke had neglected to tell him that the ‘sadistic police officer’ was actually a ‘sadistic cop  _ lady _ ,’ complete with a short skirt, fishnets and a look that overall, probably did not suit his build.

But of course, Akira was Akira. Once he agreed, he wouldn’t back out, no matter how ridiculous he looked. He dealt easily with Minato’s gentle ribbing, though he never revealed just what he looked like when wearing that costume. Rehearsals carried on, and Akira assumed that would be the last of it, once the performances were done. Things were never truly as simple as either of them wished it to be, though. Even if Akira learned to largely avoid the tsunami-like chaos he once had welcomed, a surrounding storm always seemed to ensue, pulling Minato in with a special brand of gravitational force that he was completely helpless to resist.

“How do you feel about maids?” Akira had come home from rehearsal one night, and he lead their late dinner conversation with a coy question—one that had caused Minato to simultaneously arch an eyebrow with suspicion  _ and _ sigh with the knowing that he would regret giving Akira an answer.

“Hm. Nothing against them, I guess,” The moment the words of consideration slipped from Minato’s lips, that expected regret began to rise from the pit of his stomach. He knew, after all, from the way that Akira’s lips curved upward, from how his gaze shifted from inquisitive to positively devious—

It truly felt as if he had just about signed his life away to Satan himself; Minato knew that was nothing short of true, but Akira certainly had a way about him that reinforced it so wholly that he wasn’t sure if he should be thrilled or completely horrified by what was transpiring.

It turned out that the production had lost an actor to an unrelated injury, and they were hard-pressed to find another replacement. Just as Akira had been roped in for a similar reason, Minato was asked to follow suit. And Minato, much to his own chagrin, felt helpless to say no. He was the only person of similar size and frame to the young woman he was meant to replace, and his delicate features lent well to the role of a maid in this bizarre original production that Akira was taking part in.

He was undoubtedly reluctant to agree, but the two were also Fools who never seemed too capable of denying a friend in need.  A strange, uncommon situation, solely to help out a friend—that was what led to a very curious evening two weeks later.

 

  
  
The production had come to a successful end after five nights of performances; each was easier than the last, and even Minato had been unable to deny that he wasn’t entirely uncomfortable in the costume. Perhaps it had suited him more than he’d originally cared to admit—or perhaps it had been Akira’s relentless compliments and flirtations that elicited a response of confidence in the attire.

It was for that reason that Akira’s approach upon return to their apartment felt unsurprising. His normally unruly hair was even more tousled after the performance, a mess of his natural hair and clipped-in extensions to truly sell the image of that sadistic lady cop on stage. Still, despite that appearance, Akira’s lips curved upward with a brand of devious confidence that Minato recognized immediately. Different than how he tried to ask for favors, or even to flirt casually as he often did  (unnecessarily, at that, though there was little reason to complain), this was Akira will fiery intent in his eyes. This Akira—unruly, unpredictable—he was every last bit the  _ trickster _ he claimed himself to be…

And without even a word spoken, he could feel his resistances being lowered. Minato was utterly weak to Akira’s advances as it was, but when he looked devious and completely  _ enthralled _ with his own ideas, it was impossible to resist him. That was for the better in a sense, because wanting to resist was only ever a front for his own desires, anyway. Should Minato resist, Akira would grow more persistent; they’d had four years to learn one another’s boundaries, and that game of cat-and-mouse was one that hardly ever seemed to get old.

Akira had hardly even breathed the words  _ ‘put the maid costume back on’  _ before Minato shook his head in clear defiance.

“You’ll have to  _ arrest me _ if you want me to wear that for you,” his tone was quiet and dry, yet still incredibly implicating. Even if the words indicated refusal, the meaning behind them couldn’t be missed by Akira for even a moment. He was astute enough to realize what it meant—they both had a role to play in this encounter. A sadistic cop with an axe to grind, and a maid who would face a myriad of consequences if the  _ law _ wasn’t obeyed. Akira offered Minato a quiet hum in response as he drew back. The fire in his eyes had only been further lit aflame. He could feel his excitement building, coiling through him with anticipation, and in response, Minato crossed his arms and waited.

For all that he looked belligerent, Minato was sharing in the same sentiment as Akira; when Akira turned away to pick up the duffel bag that contained the costume to get changed, his eyes had focused on Akira’s form. He watched the way Akira moved, sauntering and swaggering, and Minato himself was more than aware that whatever that night held for them, there wouldn’t be a single moment of boredom.

It wasn’t long at all before Akira emerged; after all, he’d learned over the course of the play’s rehearsals how to slip in and out of the attire with ease. There was no getting his toes stuck in the openings of the fishnets, no discomfort with slipping on a skirt. His hand was steady as he reapplied the plum-colored lipstick to his lips, and confident as he tugged on the high-heeled boots. Once the hat that tied the look together was firmly in place, his expression shifted to take on the role of bad cop, and he returned to the place where Minato stood and waited with his own brand of authority.

Minato, for his part, hadn’t been nearly as prepared as he’d projected, though. The way Akira stood, legs impossibly long in that attire—somehow, he seemed even more commanding than he did at his most showy and confident. He wore a devilish smirk and allowed his hips to sway from side to side as he made his way towards Minato. And Minato found himself completely awed by it. He’d seen Akira dressed like this quite a few times, but right in that moment, he could feel a tingle surge through him, a quiet knowing of what was to come edging forward.

When Akira finally stopped in front of him, a gloved hand crept forward, fingers dancing with ease beneath Minato’s chin. He nudged it upward as he leaned down; their breaths mingled, though Akira refused to close that gap.

“Now… am I going to have to arrest you,  _ maid-chan _ ?” It was almost demoralizing for Akira to say it that way, his voice soft in volume but hard in tone. Yet still, Minato felt invigorated. Helpless as he knew he truly was to Akira’s advances, it wasn’t as if he intended to give in without at least a little protest. Minato hummed a quiet nuh-uh, and in response, Akira’s lips crashed against Minato’s. It was a kiss that was deep and hard, an intensity meant solely to steal Minato’s breath away. Even as Akira teased pulling back, he didn’t go far, teeth gnawing gently against Minato’s lower lip.

Sadistic may not have really been the word for it, but there was little doubt that the attempt at forceful persuasion didn’t evade Akira, either.

“How many bite marks can you endure?” Akira followed up that first question with another; Minato’s gaze met Akira’s, his own intensity making a mark. His lips curved into a smirk, as if to say bring it on, though Minato spoke no words and waited to see how Akira would counter him.

The game of cat-and-mouse continued with Akira’s lips shifting away from Minato’s; over his jawline, near his ear, and then landing on his neck with gentle nibbles, bites, and marks left across Minato’s skin that would undoubtedly have to be covered up the next day. He shifted further to press a knee between Minato’s legs. The friction immediately made Minato shudder in response—their little game wouldn’t last too long if Akira was going to be so aggressive.

He’d have to fight back in another way entirely.

“A fate worse than arrest,” Minato breathed out. Even if he’d asked for it, Akira was an absolute tease in every sense of the word, and it was almost unfair. “But I can’t comply,  _ cop-san _ , if you don’t let me go.”

Akira hummed, but before he could say another word, Minato added, “Or is this considered resisting arrest?”

It took a lot for Akira to resist letting out a hearty laugh; even to the very end, Minato found his own way to be defiant and charming all the same. With all he could muster, Akira managed to keep his composure to respond. “Change. And then you’ll get your punishment for resisting.”

It was a fun game for them to play, to be sure. Even as Minato scurried off to change into the maid costume, Akira felt his shoulders slump and a much warmer smile settled on his lips. Even if brief, he couldn’t help but break character a little—at the end of the day, it really was all fun and games, after all. They may have been looking for a release from having to see each other in such attire, or from the stress of being roped into the situation at all… whatever it really was, they wanted to make the most of it, even if it was a little out of their normal wheelhouse and held onto the roles of their stage play characters just a bit longer than necessary.

His shoulders straightened as Minato emerged, however; there would be time for soft sentimentality together later—for the time being, there was still a role to play. He gave Minato a once-over, and just as he’d felt every time that maid costumed was donned, an excited thrill rolled through his body. It was impressive to him how good Minato managed to look; the costume suited his frame perfectly in a way most probably would not have expected. The length of the skirt, the endless frills… somehow, it just gave Akira that carnal  _ urge _ that made him only want to play further into the role of punishment cop.

“Playtime’s over,” The pitch of his voice changed ever so slightly, though it wasn’t at all to fill the role of a cop. It was quiet, almost sultry in tone, vaguely hoarse and enough to send a chill down Minato’s spine. The sound was so different than anything he’d ever heard uttered from Akira’s mouth over the course of the last four years—he never wanted to cave so badly to Akira’s desires as he did at that moment.

There was, of course, the part of him that wanted to resist, to keep up the front and talk back to the mean punishment cop—but he had a role to play as well. He’d already ‘resisted arrest’ once this evening, after all. So rather than talk back, Minato nodded, bowing his head slightly. “Yes…  _ master. _ ”

The bowing of his head hid the slightly thrilled smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth; Akira, on the other hand, did not hide the pleased expression as he stepped forward. His hand reached for Minato’s wrist, and with a firm but gentle tug, lead him to the sofa. He let go of the wrist after a moment, long enough to place his hands over Minato’s shoulders. An equally firm and gentle shove followed, pushing him down onto the plush cushions. Akira wasted little time straddling Minato; their foreheads pressed together as his hands slid to Minato’s wrists once more, grabbing them more tightly.

“How would you like to be punished, little maid-chan?” Somehow, Akira’s voice seemed even more sultry, breath hot against Minato’s lips.

“Do—khhh…” It was rare, but Minato’s words caught in his throat. He could feel a pricking sting from how dry it was, eyes welling slightly as he fought back a cough and tried to get the words out. When they finally seemed to escape, they had an edge to them—defiant, yet still so wanting in every way imaginable. “Do whatever you want...”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Akira murmured the words against Minato’s lips, but he didn’t linger in that spot for very long following them. He was a man on a mission, after all, and he would stop at nothing to dole out the  _ punishment _ that Minato was asking for. Each movement he made was slow and deliberate, equal parts torturous and tantalizing for Minato. Akira made his own desire known, allowing himself to press his body against Minato’s as he slid downward.

Each motion came with a touch. Fingers that linked together briefly. Lips against the fabric of the dress. Hips against thighs. Everything was completely intentional, and everything only served to draw reactions from Minato. They certainly did, by way of hitching breaths and barely audible noises that Akira sought to draw out of him further. His actions were relentless until his fishnet-covered knees pressed against the floorboards in front of the sofa. That was when Akira finally gave pause; his gaze shifted up towards Minato, and in response, Minato breath hitched in his throat once more.

It was a dangerous expression, after all. The fire in Akira’s eyes was nothing short of work on his own heart. It held a cunning fire, a devious playfulness, and the warmth of his love all in one expression. That sort of thing was impossible to resist, so rather than allow himself to stare directly into it, Minato averted his gaze slightly before his eyelids fluttered shut. Akira took that easily as his cue to begin his plan, to begin the ‘punishment’ properly. His hands shifted, a motion made to push up the frills of Minato’s dress and expose his thighs. And then it followed with no hesitation—Akira leaned in to press a kiss to the inner part of one of his thighs. There was nothing harsh about it; not a single thing about the gentle way his lips pressed against skin seemed to indicate anything that resembled punishment.

In reality, that was probably the greatest punishment of all, though.

All of the talk of punishment was just a ruse, after all. Though they had their moments that were intense with passion, Akira was not at all a cruel person. He was honest; he wore his heart on his sleeve, and he was never at all able to hide how deeply his feelings ran, especially not when it came to Minato. But that was what made it punishment, it was the fact that Akira didn’t consider for even a moment that he should cause any pain. It was the fact that his every motion when it was time to carry out his plan was nothing short of filled to the brim with overwhelming  _ love. _ It was an attraction not born solely from some brand of physical attraction or desire, but because the love he carried in his heart was sickeningly pure.

_ Of course _ that was a punishment.

For Minato, who had never known a love like this, it was punishment. Akira’s feelings were pure and unconditional. In four years, he had never once wavered in his feelings; he always held steadfastly. He was warm and persistent, and that determination was what had eventually warmed a heart that had become a literal seal. That seal had kept Akira safe unknowingly, it had nurtured a heart that gave him so much love—

A blessing and a curse all at once. A punishment, because Minato had never seen himself the type to be so weak to another’s heart. This was his punishment for preventing The Fall. It was his punishment for sealing away Nyx. His punishment for persevering humanity, and his punishment for allowing Akira to worm his way into his heart in a way that he knew would never, ever dissipate, only grow stronger and fonder with time.

It was the sort of punishment he couldn’t dream of complaining about, perhaps barring the way his cheeks flushed an embarrassing shade of pink at Akira’s bold actions.

Those actions were as relentless as ever, of course. Deliberate and warm, Akira planted kiss after kiss against Minato’s thighs. He worked his way upward, alternating between legs. Some kisses were mere pecks, others lingered longer. There was little denying that Akira wholly appreciated the soft skin of Minato’s thighs; it was hardly the first time he had focused his attention there. It was a bit different now, with Akira in that attire, with the lipstick marks being left against Minato’s skin, and with the way the ruffles of the maid dress seemed to frame Akira’s face until he disappeared beneath the tufts of fabric in order to further his goals.

Minato could feel the tightness in his chest as he grew shorter of breath. Excitement continued to mount; he felt almost light-headed as the blood rushed away from his head and to his groin.  The only issue Minato foresaw was the fact that Akira was being lost beneath the layers of ruffles. He could see nothing, only feel the warmth of Akira’s breath and the softness of his lips as he edged closer to his target.

He really didn’t want to miss a moment, at least, not any more than he might already when his heart raced and his eyes couldn’t remain open from the pleasure. But Minato hadn’t yet reached that point, and despite this being his  _ punishment _ , there was a thrill from watching Akira’s expressions in these moments that Minato didn’t want to deny himself. So rather than allow things to continue as they were, his hands shifted. They slid down to the very edges of the dress’ fabric. His grip was firm as he pulled the dress, and all the layers of ruffles around it upward—and it was certainly a sight for them both that way.

For Minato, it meant seeing Akira in all of his warmth. The way his lipstick was smeared past the lines of his lips. The way his mascara-covered eyelashes seemed to look even longer from the angle in which he was looking. The way his eyes exuded both warmth and desire when they were open. The way his tousled, extensioned hair framed Akira’s face, but tickled his thighs as the strands brushed against his skin. It was his gentle touch, and it was the way every inch of his body was consumed with that pure love. It was the way Akira could make him shiver from just a kiss. It was the sort of thing he was intent on seeing through as much as he possibly could, as much as he could take before Akira found new ways to overwhelm him.

It was something just a little different for Akira. Because drawing back the curtains meant Minato was completely exposed to him—and that in itself, it never failed to be impressive, almost breathtaking. The small frame of his body always belied the sheer size of his dick; stiff and erect, it was always an enticing marvel to see him so close. But it wasn’t just that, either. It was the way Minato’s body tensed with anticipation as Akira’s kissed shifted up his thighs. It was the way he could feel goosebumps against his lips when Minato shivered at all of the soft touches. It was the way Akira’s gaze caught Minato’s, clouded slightly with desire and pleasure. It was how his cheeks flushed pink, and how he could draw out expressions from Minato that most would never even dream him capable of.

For Akira, it wasn’t a punishment at all. It was a reward. Being able to bring Minato these sorts of pleasures—they were always rewards for Minato. For the man who had been a silent hero to the world. For the man who sealed his heart and soul away. For the man who accepted him for everything he was and wasn’t, and allowed Akira a place in his heart. It was a reward for being the warm person he was, for being honest and witty. It was a reward for everything he was; gestures like these, the ones with their bodies, held a different brand of honesty that couldn’t easily be matched in words, after all.

The ruse of their roleplaying was quickly falling apart at the seams, giving way to the sincerity of feelings. Akira’s fingers, slender and dexterous couldn’t resist the sight before him at all. There was no reason to, either, so he allowed for his fingertips to trace lightly over skin, over his thighs and up until they could wrap firmly around Minato’s dick. There was no need for words; the air was silent, barring the hitching of Minato’s breath at the sensations. Akira was nothing short of a wonder when it came to using his hands, and he was capable of putting that to good use. The stroking motions he began with were gentle; they weren’t intended to tease, merely to set the tone of what was to come. His lips darted between Minato’s thighs, still paying careful attention to every last inch of skin that he could give his love to. As he did so, Minato couldn’t deny that each passing moment was both tantalizing and filling him with anticipation. Butterflies took hold in his stomach, the thrill of every last kiss left him wanting more.

And more he certainly would get. While Akira was good with his hands, it wasn’t the only part of him that was sufficiently dexterous, and there would be no holding back once there was no thigh left to kiss. He didn’t tell Minato what he intended to; he merely acted according to what he wanted, and what he knew would bring Minato the most enjoyment.

Akira didn’t hesitate. He didn’t falter at all; his strokes remained consistent as his lips met with the base of Minato’s dick. His exhalations of hot breaths against the sensitive flesh was enough to make Minato grip tighter at the frilly edges of his dress. More than just a hitched breath was the quietest, most barely audible of groans, and that served to only motivate Akira further in his actions. Slow and deliberate, he kissed his way up the shaft; each seemed to be more attentive than the last. The further up he went, the wetter each kiss seemed to be. The midway point was when Akira’s teasing felt almost unbearable.

It was, after all, his tongue that managed that same dexterity as his fingers. Akira’s tongue darted out, tracing faint lines of saliva across the skin, and Minato could do little in response but shiver. The cool air against the warmth, wet spots was enough to elicit another reaction—though it came in the form of words.

“You’re…” Or, at the very least, Minato  _ attempted _ words, but his throat was parched and every inch of his body felt overwhelmed by the sheer amount of attention Akira was giving him. “…Such… such a damn tease…”

Akira said nothing in response, electing to use actions rather than words to convey his answer. His gaze shifted upward to look at Minato, and with a slight hum, his tongue rolled over the head. That devilish smirk remained on his lips as Minato choked out a groan; in his clouded, pleasured mind, he could only call Akira a cruel bastard—even if that cruelty was solely because he was too damn good at being a tease. It was unfair how well Akira knew his body; he knew exactly how to touch him, how to kiss him, how to utilize every last talent he had in order to draw out such an intense reaction.

Two could play at that game, of course, but Minato was more than aware that he was a slave to Akira’s whims right now… though it was hardly a bad thing. Akira was certainly punishing him by catering to his weaknesses and turn-ons, and yet he managed to be so warm even throughout that he was without any desire to truly resist it.

The teasing stopped being just a tease, though. Akira couldn’t keep that up forever—fun as it was, there reached a point where Minato’s anticipation would feel like torture…

And truthfully speaking, Akira enjoyed the act well enough that he craved a proper taste of Minato.

So rather than truly continue the game of teasing what he could offer, Akira began what he’d truly set out to do in the first place. His lips, wet with spit, pressed against the tip of Minato’s dick before his mouth opened, sinking it over him to take Minato into his mouth. Another sound of faint pleasure escaped Minato’s throat in a strangled manner, but it didn’t stop Akira from continuing onward. His tongue swirled over flesh, lapping up the taste he had been craving. There was nothing methodical about the way Akira approached this. No consistent pattern, no simple bobbing of his head as he sucked and sought out more of that flavor. It was almost chaotic, how his tongue moved in tandem with the suction, how his hand still stroked at the base, how his fingers teased gently at the most sensitive skin of Minato’s balls.

Every last motion was unpredictable, and yet that unpredictability was exactly what caused Minato to want more. His body tingled from head to toe with pleasure, a knowing that Akira was giving him all of this attention out of a pure love and desire to do so; he did was his heart and body felt was right without thinking too hard on it, and that fact in itself somehow managed to turn him on even more. Against Akira’s mouth, he twitched, as if it was somehow possible for him to get even harder while Akira’s mouth was on him in that way.

“Ghhh…. Hnnggh…” There was an attempt for Minato to say something, to say  _ anything, _ but his words were completely lost amid the pleasure that was coursing through his body. Instead, it was just quiet sounds, moans and groans that continued to motivate Akira. The saliva practically seeped from his mouth in excess, soaking Minato’s flesh as well as his own hand, but he didn’t relent, even as Minato’s hips jerked from the enraptured sensations that were overtaking him. “Ak….ira…”

His sole word, a name called, was almost pleading. It was wanting for more, yet at the same time seemed to be begging for just the smallest of reprieves.

For Akira, it was easy enough to read Minato’s body language; even without a formal request in words, he knew there was plenty of room to relent. He drew back, if only slightly, remaining close enough that Minato’s could still feel Akira’s hot, labored breaths against his skin. The lipstick had completely smeared away, leaving only faint maroon marks that blended with the rawness of his lips that somehow made Akira look even more attractive. His eyes were slightly unfocused, as if everything he had was going into providing Minato with pleasure, but still… on his lips was a smile that was equal parts teasing and goofy.

_ Punishment cop _ may have been the role, but the person here before Minato this was simply just Akira Kurusu at his most honest. Minato tugged at his dress a little more, hoisting it up in a way that would keep it from blocking his view of Akira before he reached out. His fingers threaded through Akira’s hair, and followed it up with a pleased smile and one more request.

“…Punish me properly. You have to commit to it.”

To anyone else, that may have sounded like a very odd request. But Minato was well aware that Akira had more tricks up his sleeve—and that one trick in particular would be the most enjoyable for them both. It was something that they didn’t do often because of how completely effective it was… but more than anything else, Minato wanted to feel the moist heat of Akira’s mouth as deeply as he could. Akira nodded in understanding; no explanation was needed for him—he had planned to go that route anyway after some time. It was amusing, though, the way Minato just cut to the chase for both their sakes.

“The servant… has to be punished for trying to make requests.” His commitment to the role was a bit half-hearted by this point, but the ruse made it more entertaining, so he complied, though he spoke in quiet tones that dripped with warmth.

The reprieve Minato initiated was short-lived, after only a moment of lingering, Akira resumed what he’d set out to do. Once more, he sunk his mouth over skin, his breath more even than it had been just moments earlier. Minato’s finger’s remained in his disheveled hair, stroking and tugging lightly at the strands in an encouraging way. It wasn’t really that Akira’s  _ needed _ encouragement, but he enjoyed providing it. In some sense, it kept Minato grounded from giving in to the pleasures far too soon—and with Akira’s aptitude for knowing his weak spots, it was very easy to lose himself to it.

Whether or not he would cave to the sensations quickly or not wasn’t at all Akira’s focus, though. Instead, he was edging himself towards fulfilling Minato’s request. Slow, even breaths through his nose and a quiet focus took hold as he took Minato deeper into this mouth. Minato’s hips jerked once again, reactionary to the warmth of Akira’s mouth. Another breath followed from Akira, and that was when he did what many could not. He could feel the tip of Minato’s cock hit against the back of his throat. Akira let out a shiver of his own, a reaction to hold back his own gag reflex and keep his throat relaxed. It was an effort to keep his breathing even, to manage the way he moved and reacted to Minato’s own motions.

It was something overwhelming for them both, after all. Minato could hardly stand it; he had been the one to ask for it, but feeling the heat straight down Akira’s throat, feeling the way Akira controlled himself made it difficult for Minato to retain any composure. His eyes lost focus even as they remained fixed on Akira’s face, choked and red for a long moment before drawing back to properly get some air. Tears stung the corner at his eyes, causing the remaining mascara to run and smear. Saliva dripped from his mouth, and if the sensations hadn’t been enough, to know that feeling was brought on by Akira’s actions, it was to see how positively  _ ravaged _ it made Akira look. His body warmed further as Akira didn’t hesitate to repeat his actions—

The whole thing would have seemed a bit cruel if Minato hadn’t been wholly aware that Akira was  _ just _ masochistic enough to enjoy the act. They both did, even if it was in entirely different ways, and as his dick hit Akira’s throat again, Minato let out an unrestrained sound of pleasure that completely motivated Akira into pushing himself to his limits.

“Ah—“ There wasn’t much hope for Minato to say anything coherent. He could feel the beads of sweat forming all over, rolling down his temples and his back, drenching him slowly as Akira repeated the action over and over—five or six times before he relented long enough to sloppily plant soaking wet kisses and stroke Minato, hand lubricated entirely with his own spit.

“Not yet,” Akira murmured quietly. Even if it was another brief moment of reprieve, Akira both had no intention of letting Minato get a word in edgewise  _ or  _ let him finish. He didn’t intend to drag things out for too long, but all the same, he knew after years of experience how Minato’s limitations worked. He wanted to pull Minato over the edge without argument, without prompting, without Minato giving him any further requests or instructions. It was stubborn of him, but Minato didn’t have any intent to argue it. He nodded and slid his hand down to briefly cup Akira’s cheek in gentle encouragement. He trusted Akira with this enough to let his body just give in; it felt too good for him to fight, anyway.

It was only a matter of seconds before Akira’s mouth covered him again, repeating the same actions multiple times, much to both of their pleasures. Minato’s eyes fluttered closed; though he wanted to watch every last moment of the way Akira moved and worked, the changes in expression and his finesse with how he could take his dick straight into his throat, the sensations were far too overwhelming. Each motion, each movement, every single breath was accompanied by a sound—a grunt, a groan, a half-moaned named—and the feelings began to coil and pulsate within him. Minato could feel the way the blood seemed to rush from his head, dizzying him with pleasures, how his fingers instinctively curled and tightened in Akira’s hair and tugged on them perhaps a little harder than necessary.

Akira may have said not yet, but there was little in the way of resisting the sensations. The butterflies seemed to reproduce in his gut, fluttering about in a way that indicated well and good that he was on borrowed time.

“Ah—Aki….” Minato began to choke out Akira’s name, a strangled warning that his stamina was depleting in a hurry. Akira needed little else to know what do next; he drew back to prevent himself from choking or gagging, his motions shifting. His hand moved to stroke Minato once more, mouth still covering him fairly well. Determined and relentless, his gaze shift upwards. Minato had only opened his eyes for a brief moment, but it was long enough to catch that telling gaze.

_ ‘Let go,’  _ Akira’s eyes spoke to him. Soft, encouraging, they told Minato that he was ready, that he would accept what Minato had to offer him. His eyes spoke the words he couldn’t while his mouth remained occupied. His tongue still moved in its dangerously dexterous ways, and his gaze didn’t falter for a moment.

—And that was far more than enough for Minato.

His eyes squeezed closed as his body tensed; his toes curled as his legs wrapped around Akira’s back. He couldn’t help the way is grip tightened on the long, extended locks of hair and tugged as he found his explosive release directly into Akira’s mouth. Akira, for his part, had been wholly ready for that response. The moment of silence was long, as Minato heaved tired breaths, Akira swallowed down Minato’s offering and took the extra step to lap up the remaining mess on Minato’s dick with his tongue.

All that remained was a stray mark that sat at the corner of his lips, hardly noticed by Akira. His mouth was wet, lips red and raw, threatening to chap—but he seemed completely satisfied by Minato’s elated responses. Without moving from between his legs, he leaned his head against Minato’s thigh comfortably and gazed up at him with a subdued smile.

“I think that’s enough punishment for one day,” He offered the words quietly, but playful as Minato seemed to regain some of his composure.

In response, Minato leaned down to first wipe away the running mascara from beneath Akira’s eyes, and followed it by wiping away the mess that remained near the corner of his mouth. “You’re a mess.”

Akira smirked, and subverted Minato’s expectations by shifting his head enough to envelop Minato’s thumb in his mouth. Every last drop was his, after all. Minato’s expression shifted, bemused by the way Akira managed to be lewd right to the very end.

...Or, at least, what Akira likely believed would be the end.

But rather than give Akira the satisfaction of getting the last surprise of the evening, Minato was prepared to take matters into his own hands. He slid off the sofa, and tired as his body was, he shifted Akira as well, moving to be able to take a spot in his lap. It was easy to straddle Akira while still in the maid’s dress, after all. It only took a moment of pressing his body to Akira’s to know that he was still rock hard and needed his own form of release. His hips pressed against Akira’s further; after a brief moment, Minato breathed a few invigorating words against Akira’s ear.

“I guess I’ll have to clean you up myself… with a full-service treatment.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Part two of content posted for pegokita day, though this is the result of a winning incentive poll from a few weeks back! Thanks to everyone who voted, your thirsty crossdressing content now exists. ♥ I appreciate the support!


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